


Take to The Road

by IronPanda



Series: No Stop Signs or Speed Limits- Just a Straight Shot Down. [2]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: A series of one-shots, Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Motorcycle!AU, Nori does what he wants, as will warnings over time, kind of stand alones, lots of motorcycles, modern!AU, pairings will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronPanda/pseuds/IronPanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are stand alone one-shots to my challenges from the fic: There's Silence and Then There's Distance. Those who answer the questions I present correctly get to request a little backstory of their character of choosing, because the universe of the fanfic is rather huge, and  I may even in throw in random one-shots that just don’t fit the story. </p><p>1. Bifur – He doesn’t blame Bofur anymore, if only the other could get it through his thick skull.<br/>2. Nori (hints of NorixBofur)- Nori's favorite past time is to appear and disappear whenever he wants.<br/>3.Thorin- They were the Durin Three.<br/>4. Dwalin x Ori- Ori believes he has the most nerve out of the team. And he does.<br/>5. Ori has got a hot date. Sort of. He hopes.<br/>6. Fili- Kili's sure about leaving, he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise Me

**Author's Note:**

> Take to The Road
> 
> Chapter 1 is for Judayre who was the first to guess the correct answer to the first challenge. She asked for a little insight to Bifur, so without revealing to much about his future role I decided to dig up some of his back story.
> 
> The question was: What are the meanings of the chapter names in TS&TTD, which the answer was the color of the sport bikes (except of course Chapter 2 which is Gandalf's car).
> 
> I'll be posting another challenge when Chapter 5 is released tomorrow!  
>  **Warning brief mentions of Alcoholism**

**Surprise Me**

Bifur prided himself in being able to read people. Especially his family. The Erebor Riders often struggled in hiding things from the aged silent man. And Bifur knows a lot of the team's ill kept secrets. He would often roll his eyes at the too obvious Ori, and his puppy gazes at Dwalin. He would note Dori's constant worrying over Nori even as the eldest brother yells at the criminal for doing _'Stupid things, he's going to get in a large amount of trouble some day and Dori won't help him out of it'_ , or even their supposed ‘stoic’ leader and his constant heated stares at their new ‘team member’.

People were so obvious with emotions.

Without word Bifur could win most pots of Texas hold 'em, with only a couple of grunts and a devious grin. It’s proven lie detectors have a lower rate of success than him. 

So it only took him until the first few days after he returned from Oin’s hospital, back when the man worked ever second of his soul there, to notice the change.

Sometimes Bofur would get a guilty look. Not all the times but just sometimes he would drink from morning to late night, and his eyes would glaze over with an unnatural sadness. 

Bombur would mention this to Bifur, he would say: "He still blames himself, no matter how many times you tell him not to. He still does."

Bifur would admit, for a short time he blamed his cousin too. 

He would never whistle a tune again, or talk to the children who would come to his toy shop and tell them stories.  
His vocal chords were damaged beyond repair, and were a constant irritation. He still painted fantastical figurines every now and then, always yellow, and he always gave one away to someone in the team.

Bifur did not consider it an accident, there were no freak accidents. It was what happened. 

He didn't blame Bofur for crashing, anymore. It’s been twenty years since his first bike skid off the road under his youngest cousin’s control. But it did frustrate him to no end that it was still hanging over their heads.

One night in particular, they were in a small motel room. The Erebor Riders had just lost a race, and were behind in quite a few points. Bofur had thrown his hat across the room in a scream of frustration, and then taken to drinking another bottle of cheap alocohol.

They lost the race because Bifur couldn't warn them about the Gundabad ambush. Bifur lost a tire, and had a large open gash on his forehead that still throbbed under the horrendous smelling medicine smeared under the gauze. Apparently the scar had a low chance of healing.  
Bofur got away with a black eye. Bifur decided it was time to move on. He set down the small tire he was whittling from wood.

When Bofur finally sat on the edge of the bed, bottle half empty, he was staring at his hands, clenching them and unclenching them.

Bifur got up and picked up the floppy hat he made for Bofur so many years before.

He placed it on his cousin's head.

Brown eyes looked up at him. And he punched Bofur in the chest, twice. 

Bombur had entered the room a moment before, and the large man ran to break up the possible fight.

Bifur raised a hand to halt him.

"Ow what the hell Bifur." Bofur exclaimed, reaction time slowed and words slurring together.

He grunted, his face deadpan, and signed 'You're lucky I didn't give you matching shiner.'

He patted Bofur on the head like he used to when Bofur was a little boy; and he and Bombur would trail after Bifur as if their cousin was a king.

‘I want to paint my bike.’ He signed to both of them. 

Bombur's face showed that everything started to click in his head. He was the smarter one of the two brother's in Bifur's opinion.

"Why?" Bofur asked still rubbing his chest.

‘Because for some fucking reason I need to knock it into your skull that it’s over and done, you need to move on now, I’m not the one suffering from the crash anymore, you are. I’m not your tragedy.’ Bofur winced under Bifur’s glare, and he didn’t look him in the eye for the rest of the night.

The team surprised him when they started forming their own signals to use during races.

And he surprised them by showing up to scrimmage with a bright yellow paint job.


	2. Run Like it's the Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori suffers from the life of a drifter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a gift for **Sabbra** who answered Chapter 5's question correctly, now I have one more to post for another reader who answered correctly, and that's coming today as well.
> 
> hints of NorixBofur, and hints to There's Silence and Then There's Distance's internal problems that are going to come to head in the next arc that starts Chapter 8!

**Run like it’s the Apocalypse**

Nori liked to vanish. He didn't like to remain predictable and reliable.

The way he saw it: everyone expects something from you and if he learned anything from his father, it's best to let them down early.

He had an addiction, it was to be on the run, to keep moving there was always somewhere to go.

The problem was it was like drowning himself with his own spit to come back.

Months after their second Circuit loss Nori found himself on the road for a total of ninety days before he turned his bike to the familiar old route of home with a few more bucks(maybe more than a few) in his pocket than he left with.

He crept through the window of his and Ori’s apartment to find Dori already there, sweeping. Somehow his older brother always knew when to drop by his apartment and find him.

Nori didn’t both to creep past his brother and instead watched him finish the last corner by the couch. Then the copper haired man stripped off his gloves and tossed them to the floor, sighing.

“What’s it this time?” He tried to sound like a nice blend of monotone and sarcastic.

"Why can't you stay put for one moment?" Bossy man asked his disappointed face on. He must have heard of the incident in the Angmar region. Word traveled fast back to the silver haired tea connoisseur.

"There's nothing exciting ever going on unless it's during the Circuit." Nori tossed his dirtied leather jacket onto his small black couch, and cracked his neck with a roll.

"You stayed home for one day last time, that was three months ago." Dori began. The round end of his broom poked Nori in the ribcage. The middle brother grimaced and moved it with two fingers.

"Yeah well you know- I got the inspiration fast." Dori with a broom could do some damage so he started moving towards the kitchen slowly.

"You couldn't even stop by? I found Ori here by himself-"

"He's twenty years old I'm sure he doesn't mind, better than living with your family," Time for the drifter to focus on something else besides his brother's poor disguised hurt.

"You are my family-"

"Half technically."

"Will you just listen Nori."

"I've been listening, for the last sixteen years I've been listening. No in fact for the last thirty years I've been listening " Now he looked over and raised an eyebrow at his brother, he was ready for this argument again; it was the same repetitive behavior that ended with rolled eyes on his part and mottled cheeks on Dori's. Nori felt his stomach claw with emptiness, Ori probably had something in the fridge he could steal.

"You only listen when you need me to bail you out of something!" That's totally false.

"That hasn't happened in two years."

"A family dinner hasn't happened in two years!" Nori paused mid- search of the tall white fridge. Dori had followed him like a nagging old badger.

"I've been on the go sorry no schedule when trying to make a living."

"And what you are doing-"

"A dishonest living sorry clarification." Hmm this sushi didn't look too bad, Ori probably wouldn't want it. He grabbed the tray and popped a roll in his mouth, the spiced mayo kick hit his tongue with a punch.  
"You stop by the Broadbeams every time before you come back." Nori started to cough, Dori had said that with a quiet voice not nearly as bothersome and assertive as it was before. He averted his eyes from Dori's dark ones, from the aged lines in the corners of his brother's eyes, the few additions of wrinkles. A map of evidence that all his brother did and worried about.

"I-"

Dori drew in a breath, his shoulders no longer sagging in defeat, fluffy gray eyebrows drew down on the temple, and the bearded mouth was in a stern frown.

"I will see you tomorrow at seven, I already told Ori you'd be there, come now, I know you never turn down free food if you can take it from me." His brother paced the broom in the corner of the room, picked up a brown sweater off of a coat rack (They had a coat rack? They were professional bikers for god’s sake) and tied it around his stocky waist. The click of the door resounded in the dark bachelor's pad.

He never did find a witty comeback for Dori. Instead he went dinner with Ori, Dori, and Dori's wife Norah at some steak place and he enjoyed the free meal and didn't censor himself the enter time.

But he didn't know if he missed it, being tied down. Something stung in his side, an irritating needle that continued to get deeper and deeper until he finally popped open a lager on the back porch of their apartment. 

Somehow he still ended up being predictable, and being a disappointment.

Dori knew, for how long Nori didn't know. But Dori knew and didn't call him out on it until now.

Every time he hits the road, he visits Bofur at the same amount of time, no matter the distance.

They go for a ride and a beer, unrestrained. They drink until the morning greets them again and laugh and read each others scars clear as day.

And somehow Bofur wheedles in a reminder for him to go home. That his brother's do miss him, and that he's full of shit for believing his wants in life are any less than what Dori or Ori want, and that makes him lesser. The one just like their oh so beloved dad.

So Nori had caught onto a routine without knowing it. Go on a crazy ride for miles with five dollars in his pocket, have sex with someone (or someones), increase or decrease the amount of money in said pocket, maybe hitchhike a couple times, end up back to bike again as long as it's not totaled, lose a few items of clothing.

Make a couple deals.

And then he gets this prick at the base of his skull, a need.

He goes to Bofur's to be convinced of where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks for reading, and contact me on tumblr if you wanna discuss anything~


	3. He was like lightning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were the Durin Three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the bit of backstory request. It's short, and not much but I tried to give a little hints to Frerin and I think it actually gives a lot to Thorin's inner angstyness from 'There's Silence and Then There's Distance.'
> 
> This was for Moonrose91 who also answered Chapter 5's question correctly.  
> Now to Chapter 7!

**He was like lightning**

They were the Durin three: Thorin the leader, Dìs the spitfire, and Frerin the wildcard.

They were three parts of a whole, the children of Thrain, grandchildren of the creator of the Durin Line motorcycles and Erebor bike customization shop. They were uncontrollable storms.

Even up to the Circuit of 2008.

Thorin told him to take the other bike. He yelled at his brother to listen to him because he was the owner of the line and leader of the team since their father passed.

Frerin just smirked at him, that closed lipped superior smirk that somehow Fili inherited from his uncle. Because in some sense the shorter man was superior.

He pushed himself away from the small new silver model he was tuning up, and walked to his signature sport, built with every trusted spare part he could get his hands on. 

He told Thorin, _We worked on this bike together, it's my first and my favorite, I'm always going to ride it._

Sometimes Thorin tries to forget the specific details of his brother from the dark chestnut hair that was always pulled back, to the sharp inherited eyebrows, and the same shade of cerulean the three siblings shared.

The Durin siblings were born to race. They always pushed past their limit, living as immortals.

They hardly ever lost. Frerin never lost. He was cocky, but much less quick to anger than either of his siblings, and the preferred negotiator of the three. He would kickstart every race, eyes strumming with lighting right as he would put on his metallic silver helmet.

When not riding a bike the youngest Durin was fixing them.

Frerin was often found with a wrench and a toolbox, dirty old black tank and just as dirty jeans. Most times he would be talking with one of the team members, making them laugh, or hitting them with quick wit. Often the brunt of his jokes was his older brother Thorin.

He used to tell Thorin to get out more, to meet someone, to discover the feeling of being tamed and yet he never got in a relationship of his own.

The team relied of Frerin's ability on the track, and his ability to customize a bike beyond standard. They all produced the best bikes they could when they were winning.

They used to sit in the giant shop of Durin Line at Erebor, found tweaking and fixing, building and breaking. Throwing together ideas like three wheels, hollow frames, bone style constructions, and singing was a requirement. The Erebor Riders breathed motorcycles.

None more than Dís Thorin and Frerin.

A triple set of pure insanity and lack of regard for their own safety, they drove with the will to live. Thorin raced often with injuries and even a broken wrist once. Dís only stopped when obviously pregnant. And right after each birth of her sons she was back on.

Frerin never took a break _‘These bikes are work and living at the same time to me.’_ He would say. Morning to night, Thorin remembered just taking their bikes for a ride, always egging each other to go faster and longer. Until their tanks were near empty and their palms sore.

Chasing cars, and speed limits.

There was no shortage of mishaps or skids or foolhardy heart pounding incidents.

Thorin never thought the tornado that was Frerin could be consumed by fire, and he never thought that he’d lose every chance he could to avenge him.

 

They never thought of losing one another to mortality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda want to write more about Dìs but it'd be too soon. Maybe.


	4. Oil and Graphite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori is one determined little soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For The_Stitched_One who got the Bonus question right of where I got my title from. There's Silence And Then There's Distance comes from the song New York by Snow Patrol. I dunno I just love the line, even if I did twist it around.  
> Anyways I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Enjoy the DwalinxOri!

**Oil and Graphite**

The way Ori saw it he was the most ballsy of them all.

Sure he enjoyed, knitting, books, and was one of the few to actually go to college out of the Erebor Riders, but he also was the only one to outright admit anything. That wouldn't be such a problem if it didn't affect him so badly.

Ori had known he was damn near in love with Dwalin since he decided, albeit a bit late, to head off to college at twenty years old. And when he came back after a comfortable first couple years, he decided he was going to tell the man.

So he walked to one of his favorite places. The Erebor bike shop, it was a makeshift version of the old one, but there was a charm to the old garage. It had that beautiful smell of oil and metal, and all the glossy chrome lines of the parts, and cylinders, the paint, and wax. He rolled in his teal lined baby in for a 'tune' up. 

Today was the day that Dwalin had the longest shift, and there he was painting a fine line of black on his blood red sport bike. His muscles glistened with sweat, just drawing the eye to the blue, greenish, and black ink sleeves of tattoos. Ori tried to keep his cheeks from dusting pink.

He tapped on the horn of his bike to alert the older man.

Dwalin cut the airbrush off and looked over, his handsome rough face breaking into a tiny smile. Those dark eyes pierced through the college student, and he still couldn't tell what was underneath the surface.

"Here for your oil change?" That rough voice brought a sheepish grin to his fresh face.

"Yeah I could use one just in case, I did a bit of traveling, and it's been a while." He sat in one of the tin workshop chairs by the tool counter; he pulled out his sketchbook from his bag, ready for the inspiration that always came.

Dwalin moved from his bike, and began to set Ori's on the lift. The artist started to sketch the strain of the muscles, and the movement of the iron thick torso.

"So how's college goin'?" 

Ori looked up from the start of another light graphite line. "Good so far, I’m almost done, I may take a year off, but I think I made the right choice in double majoring in Lit and Studio Art.”

Dwalin snorted, pulling out a small tin of oil. "If anyone can do it-" He tossed a appraising smiled at Ori, and the young man felt heat bubble at the praise.

"You're always sketchin' when you come in here." Dwalin said about an hour later, he had pulled off his gloves and was washing off his hands at the dipped chrome sink that stuck out of the old wall. "Isn't it the same thing every time?"

Ori lifted his head from the textured cream page. "Sometimes, but that's what makes it interesting I think." He shrugged.

Dwalin made an interested noise from the gutters of his throat, and Ori started to sketch the place it came from, drawing the hidden black ink that crept from behind the rough long beard. Placing a bit more weight on the pencil he started to sketch up to the ear he memorized, chipped off with several gold piercings that lined it's shell. 

"Can I see?" Dwalin asked, his voice low, he treated it as if it were a private act Ori was committing. And it sort of was. 

His heart hammered through his single pocket button up, but he nodded furiously. He handed the spiral book to Dwalin, the cover closed.

The man started flipping through, with thick calloused fingers, and Ori watched his face closely. He waited, examining the man's eyebrows, his eyes, the way his mouth twitched as his pupils scanned the page..

Dwalin paused right at the area Ori suspected he would. He started running his fingers over the page, careful as if it were china. Then he flipped to the next page, each movement was methodical.

"You draw me?" 

Ori blushed but remained resolute. "Most of the time yes."

"Why?"

"Because- you interest me, a lot." He tried to hide more in the context, to imply something else, like he were a complex literary piece to be analyzed.

"I do?" Dwalin looked like he didn't believe Ori, but he kept flipping through the sketchbook. "This how you see me?"

"Yes, all the time now."

"For how long?" Now Dwalin was getting it, he looked up from the book, dark umber eyes searching Ori's face.

"About a year or so now." He stood up and walked over, peeking up at what page Dwalin was on. He had settled on one of the pictures from today, where Ori had sketched him bent and reaching under the black sportbike, inspecting each part with care.

"Even, when you were away?" There it was, the revealing want in Dwalin's eyes, Ori knew an opportunity when he saw it. Not that he was any less nervous.

"I'm just there to study." He took the sketchbook from Dwalin when it was held out to him, the cover was closed, he held it close to his chest but he didn't move from the mere inches they were away from each other. "I'm really interested in you, and- and I know that it may seem forward, or strange but it's the truth." There it was all out with a crooked tender smile on his face.

The tattooed man didn't move, but he looked hesitant, Ori felt the impatience bubble inside him. The nerve would leave the younger man if he didn't move, so he leaned in, kind of slow, sketchbook still close to his wiry chest, and Dwalin closed the gap.

The older man was tender with everything he did, slow, and still tentative, he set a large hand around Ori's forearm, and the thin student pressed closer to the much bulkier body. Desire pooled inside the young man, and relief, so much relief he wasn't wrong, that he wasn't just left in the dust, and that the tender meeting of lips didn't end too soon.

Dwalin pulled away, and Ori made a noise of dissatisfaction but he leaned back, a slow grin pushing itself to his face anyways.

That was five months ago, and they went on one secret date, before Dwalin continued on his nervous streak.

Ori could give a damn about the age difference, but that didn't mean everyone would feel the same. It was like walking on glass, terrifying, but he just wanted to rush across the surface and let it either hold him up, or crack beneath him.

Now to convince Dwalin to take the same chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one question still open to be answered, though I will post a new one by Chapter 10. Though I am really considering just writing Dwalin and Ori's date because, I'm kind of obsessed now.


	5. Pan Seared, Rare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Rieve Brothers, and Ori's got a hot date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little later than I expected it to be up, sorry theninjaprincess but I hope you like it!  
> I believe someone had answered the most recent questionnaire correct but I have yet to tell them ;). I will.

**Pan Seared, Rare.**

 

Ori knows he has been twitchy and fidgeting all day, he can’t help it really.

"There's something you're not telling me." Dori pushes over a pristine lavender teacup to his youngest brother with a placid face. Ori takes the warm cup, and his hands still from the open note pad he had been doodling nonsensical runes in for the last half hour. 

"Don't be so paranoid Dori. I’m just a little restless is all." He shrugs, if he smiled it would make him more suspicious. Ori believed in the philosophy ‘Don’t ask what you don’t want to know’.

 

He was having mid afternoon tea with his eldest brother, the silver haired man was spending the few hours before he went to the Erebor Rider's shop to ‘tinker, in their apartment.

It was a tradition for them, one that would involve Nori if he didn't proclaim tea to be 'Herbal vegan shit, the only herbs he takes is hemp, and right now he's going to get some.' 

But both Dori and Ori know Nori's favorite tea is Sleepy time, brewed the darkest it could get in a mug that had the faded lettering ‘Fck ou’. 

Speak(or think) of the Devil. Nori came out of his room a mess of long hair, an exposed flat torso with that large C’est La Vie on his upper chest going from shoulder blade to shoulder blade (It was a pretty tattoo in blue and red ink that Ori admired greatly, not that he’d tell Dori, though he’s sure Dori has no room to speak about tattoos.), and three day old jeans. Dori was locked on and in focus at his green-eyed brother, just assessing how poor his state was at the moment.

"Nori, do you want tea?" Dori asks as Nori rummages in the fridge for food like a scavenging raccoon. 

"Nah I'm good." Nori shuts the white door. "Damnit there's nothing here. Why don’t you guys make pancakes?" He goes back in to his room. Dori sighs through his nose, and takes another drink of tea.

 

Ori gets up to wash his empty cup; in front of the sink he straightens the buttons of his shirt. He takes in a deep breath, looks at their thrift shop cat clock, fixes his cuffs, and once again pats down his dark wash jeans.

"You know Balin called a little while ago and he said something about Dwalin fixing up your bike the other day. I didn't know it needed anything done." Ori freezes at Dori's statement. "Why didn't you tell me when we went in the shop last week?"

"It just slipped my mind until now is all." He avoided looking his brother in the eye, and instead searches for his jacket. 

He grabs his brown satchel, bike keys, and helmet.

"Where are you off to?" Dori asks. 

"Oh um, I'm going out for a little bit, I'll be back."

"But where?" His brother persists.

"Why does it matter? You don't live here, go back home Dori." Nori snips with a lack of seriousness, and he squeezes past Ori in the doorway. "Don't wait up for me if you do stay, might be out for a couple days. A lovely lady from the Tavern called. And you know how that goes."

Dori glares at his younger brother, and Ori takes his chance to skirt out, feeling very much like a teen sneaking out for a late night party.

He is beyond those days, ok?

 

He and Nori were out the door and heading opposite ways from the first floor of the building, though the youngest Rieve did feel like his other older brother was scrutinizing him. That biker had no right to judge him and his questionable actions.

It is a nice day out, sort of. It was just the right side of humid, and if the dew points went any higher his hair might not have laid in the correct parting. The bent oak by the complex was looking springy again and Ori took it as a good omen.

He mounts his bike and rides with a sense of urgency, with sweaty palms to this small steak shack. It was called the Golden Axe and contained some of the most seasoned rare sirloin that Ori has ever tasted. Even despite it’s rather rough exterior, and unsightly cartoon cutout sign of a round-bellied bull.

And it was always busy. College students and solo people often frequented the small fair priced eatery. 

He slid in one of the tall chairs of the self-seating restaurant. A young woman with auburn hair like Nori (just a shade brighter) walks up to him, and asks for his order. He says just water for now.

He itches to sketch something while he waits. So he starts to sketch the waitress' high ponytail, then at the table next to him is a man with a large scar across his neck. Then he starts drawing his glass of water, she comes back and he turns down the chance to order just yet. He’s too afraid to say he’s waiting for someone, in case they chose not to come anymore. His hands shake as he starts to draw the curve of an ear, it gets interrupted by a missing piece at the auricle, then he started a big clunky bronze earring, square in shape, dull in the surface.

His eyes keep leaving the picture every other minute, gravitating towards the door instead. 

He is watching each person who walks in with skittish earnest. 

The waitress comes again, and he orders a sweet tea. 

Ori runs a hand through his dusty brown hair, and then curses because he knows he mussed his tamed cowlick to stick back up. He chews on the end of his B graphite pencil.

"Sorry I'm late, I was Uhm. Gettin' you, somethin." Ori almost startles out of pure elation alone when Dwalin speaks. The large man looks good (ok more than good, he looks like every other fantasy Ori has had in private.), wearing a fresh white t-shirt, that bronze earring and black jeans, and a scent of something deliciously husky was just barely lingering from him (Now that will haunt the college student for weeks.).

"Oh oh- Really?" Ori tries very hard not to blush in pleasant surprise. Something is set on the table, it is a plain black box, of a thick smooth covering, the latch is a bright clean gold, and the handle was short and had a good grip.

"For yer, pencils, and stuff. If it is the right thing. I wasn' sure, I asked my tattoo artist what he uses for his, and he said it was a good brand." Ori had to strain to hear the words from the deep- but low- voice. Dwalin crosses his arms stiff as a board, and does not meet Ori's eyes.

"No no, it's perfect, thank you Dwalin, it's- I like it. A lot." Ori reassures, he picks up the box, and runs his hands over the seamless texture, and when he opens it the little organized boxes on the inside were just begging to be filled.

The waitress comes back, with a knowing look in her brown eyes that made ori blush, and asks for their orders. This time Ori gets a ribeye medium rare with loaded potatoes. Dwalin gets the same with a side of fries. Under the table, despite whoever may see, Ori grabs the large warm hand in his.  
Dwalin’s eyebrows rise a little in surprise, and he clears his throat. But the smile is there.

And that little twitch was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone ever thought of doing a fic trade? I think those could be fun, I've never done one before.
> 
> Considering it for a celebration of Arc 2 being finished of TSaTTD.  
> Long acronym is long.


	6. I wanna take to the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing's worse than being unwanted, and not knowing why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is for Siv! Though it's a little overdue she answered the last question correctly, and requested something on Fili and Kili.
> 
> I'm afraid it's on Fili a little bit more than Kili, however eventually there will be a companion piece directly to this, that kind of takes it further. And it turned out a little bit more depressing than I expected.
> 
> All mistakes are my own cause it's still a hectic week, and fixing them will come later.

**I wanna take to the road.**

Fili remembered their father, He remembered short blond hair, warm dark brown eyes, a strong jaw, and big hands that worked on the smallest model cars with delicacy. 

He remembered jeans and button ups, a wide smile and the tightest hugs.

He also remembered when his father packed up, got in his red mustang, and never returned. He remembered feeling so unwanted, why would his father not want them? 

He didn't leave when they were really young, no he left just seven years ago. 

Fili remembered how many questions they asked their mom, and continued to for days, and how they cried, latched onto her, how silent she was for once. Her red lips were so dull, skin pale and her long hair in thick sheets on her shoulders rather than in the single braid that would go down her back. She smelled of lavender and a bit of motor oil clung to her black tank top. She wrapped her arms around her sons and didn't let go for hours.

And they still didn't know why Cillian left. But from that day Fili was a Durin fully, he only went by that last name and grew out his blond hair so it did not resemble his father's short gold locks, he focused on motorcycles rather than cars, and went on the road with a decision to return. 

He looked to his uncles for how to walk, how to talk, how to be a man.

"Don't you wanna go out there?" Kili said to Fili while they were in a general superstore. They were sent on an errand that day for some cheap cleaning cloths and got distracted by the maps section. Kili's hand trailed over the big landscape with its many lines out west. 

Fili's eyes were fixated on how small Erebor's name looked on the map compared to the littered unfamiliar names that were strewn across the beige parchment.

"We should worry about getting in the Circuit soon. Once mom will let us." Fili nudges his brunette brother with his shoulder.

"Yeah but what about after? They aren't going to need us the whole time. Ow-" The elder tugs at Kili's ponytail to hint they should be somewhere else, and to stop the teen before he could really get started (Once Kili got started on something, stopping him was near impossible.). 

In his dreams he was a gold streak down the open road, on his new bright blue bike, the wind was powerful, the air light and completely new. 

One of those nights his motorcycle transformed into a candy blue mustang halfway down the freeway.

Then Uncle Frerin died. Their mom looked five years older in a couple months and lost her desire to race. Uncle Thorin lost his more careless smiles, the team lost their spirit. Fili lost a teacher, he learned everything he knew about fixing bikes from his happy go lucky uncle, and now he hardly wanted to pick up a wrench.

He lost another person in his life.

And Fili tried to bury the want, he tried to hide it every time he would kick into gear and climb out on the main road.

One day, fresh after they moved to the Blue Mountain apartments, he and Kili climbed onto his blue sport bike.

"Resturant's that way Fili, we gotta meet the team and Gandalf." Kili points from behind him, he had been looking in a daze down the grey long road. But those brown eyes knew what he was thinking, they dared him to try.

"Someday-"

"Sooner than you think." His brother whispered, and a chin hooks on his shoulder. “So what do you think our new teammate will be like?”

Fili smirks. “Does it matter? Gandalf found them, and we have a fourteenth racer finally.”

Maybe if they win the Circuit this time, they won't be abandoning all they worked for.

Fili had this childish thought, that if they got far enough, he’d know why their father left them, why the estranged man never had the desire to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so technically this is one half of the entire piece because I want one in Kili's P.O.V as well, that should be up with Chapter 14 once my little hiatus is over.
> 
> For now thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to ask me questions on any of my fics, or future oneshots, or just to go check out the sneak previews I set up every once in a while on my tumblr: pandamani.tumblr.com
> 
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> **Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.**


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